Premise: Divorce is celebrated in the same way as marriage.
“Insensitive, moronic, fucking, mindless, bastards”, intoned Emma in disbelief over the noise, unable to take her infuriated stare away from the re-batchelor’s
lads table. The insensitive, moronic, fucking, mindless, bastards were all standing, swaying in time to a chant they Emma thought they must have dredged up from some neolithic part of their brains. ‘Time to call them an ataxia’, Emma thought said to herself (thankfully she only said it to herself as even she cringed at the geekiness of the joke). They were starting again, the third rendition of that delinquent song:
Hey boy you no longer itch
Bacause you are saying bye bye bitch
(Repeat until the manifest analgesia is so heightened the brain can no longer recall the words and fall about in a fit of raucous, intimidating laughter)
It was apparent that the room no longer consisted of a division between the ex-bride and ex-grooms’ parties, but between tables who could tolerate the extremes
towards which some were going and those who could not. Emma heard Susan shout, “That’s so damn distasteful.” Was Susan such a stuck up cow she couldn’t muster more than that? Was the problem hear really that it was just distasteful? Emma tried to update her description of the proceedings: the red, sweaty, balding-in-some-cases, smelly, farting, boorish, STI infested, insensitive, moronic, fucking, mindless, bastards continued to sing regardless.
- Graphito and the reclamation of the material world (Subtle Sci-fi 0004) (jamescleggartwritings.wordpress.com)